Baylor MilitarySchool
Evansville, Wisconsin
January 15, 1944
Becoming aware, he stared into the darkness for a number of seconds, then, Oh, no. Appalled, No! he thought, it can’t be! I’ve made in bed! Throwing the blanket off, he rushed from the room through the deserted, dimly lit hall into the bathroom. Standing before the urinal, expecting his pajamas to be wet he looked down, but they weren’t, his pajamas were dry, absolutely dry!
Was I dreaming? Yeah, it had to be a dream! Or maybe I was hangin’ out and only got the bed wet. He shuddered. The bed, wet! What’ll the guy’s say when they find out I’ve pee’d in bed? Rushing back to the room, he felt the sheet and blanket.
Dry! The bed was dry!
Was I dreaming? Mitchell wondered again.
Trying to remember, he crawled back into bed, but could not sleep and soon, Now I do gotta go.
Hungry, feeling his stomach growl as he stood in front of the urinal, Mitchell tried to remember if he had any of the cache of candy left that he’d bought at the theater yesterday. Nope! His stomach growling again, he remembered that he’d finished the last box of Juju Beads after lunch and, though he had no idea of the time, he did know it was hours until reveille and breakfast.
Bending over the sink, cupping his hand he scooped an ounce of water into his mouth, then again. Straightening his body his eyes came in line with the community shelf that ran above the sinks the entire length of the bathroom wall. Stepping two sinks over, taking his can of Dr. West’s Tooth Powder off the shelf, Mitchell looked at the strip of adhesive tape marked “Lipensky, M.” in indelible black ink then, shrugging his shoulders, he removed the cap, looked at the oval opening a moment, shrugged his shoulders once again and up-ended the can directly into his mouth.
“Hmmm!” Liking the taste of peppermint on his tongue, thinking, Not too bad, standing back, he studied the shelf.
It’s a virtual candy counter.
Peppermint… Spearmint… Wintergreen… Cinnamon!
Colgate… Pepsodent… Ipana… Teel… Dr. West’s!
White… Blue… Green… Red! Paste… Powder… Liquid!
He could pour, squeeze and shake, and if he didn’t take too much of any tube, can or bottle, who’d miss it?
Starting at the window, working his way to the door, Mitchell sampled from each can, tube and bottle, and when he finished he went back to one of the three bottles of Teel and, careful not to touch it there, shook a few drops of the thick, red fluid directly onto his tongue.
Yup! Without a doubt, the cinnamony taste of Teel was his favorite.
Mitchell Lipensky’s sweet tooth satisfied, going back to bed, he promptly fell asleep.
The Toothpaste Thief
January 19, 1944, to June 14, 1944
His thoughts troubled and confused him. Why then, after all that time, why then did he continually think of Salvatore and Louise Ann and try to bring each minute detail of those few moments of looking through their bedroom window into such a mentally-sharp focus? Also, and even more disturbing, now his penis seemed to have a mind of its own, and now, for no apparent reason, even if he did not have to urinate, he might have an erection at any time, even, embarrassingly, in class.
Three days earlier he knew nothing of masturbation. Though no one had told him “You’ll go blind!” That, “Thou shalt not cast thy seed upon the ground.” Or even that “You’ll grow hair on the palm of your hand,” Mitchell somehow felt that “jacking-off” was wrong.
Three days earlier, when he watched Skorupski masturbate he’d thought the older boy looked ridiculous.
Yet, seventy-two hours since his first, unknown, nocturnal emission… After two nights of fighting the inevitable, an hour after taps, Mitchell could no longer restrain himself and he allowed his mind to go to where his mind wanted to go, and it wanted to go to Louise Ann’s breasts, and he allowed his hand to go where his hand wanted to go and it wanted to go to his engorged penis and, though he had no idea of what the outcome might be, he felt a compulsion to do what he seemed compelled to do…
Holding himself, he thought about Louise Ann’s breasts—Something dirty?—and moved his hand, and the more he moved his hand the more he was compelled to move it because the approaching juggernaut of heretofore unknown sensations registered in his brain as something that simply must reach its conclusion….
“Mmmm!” The involuntary moan broke simultaneously with the first spasm and Mitchell bit his lip in order to keep from being heard as the incredibly warm, sweet sensations started from between his rectum and testicles and fanned their way upward as, one after the other, the chain of penile contractions pounded deliciously throughout his body.
Catching his breath, the boy’s mind could not comprehend the impossibly sweet miracle that he’d brought onto himself, by his own hand: his first conscious orgasm…
But as the erotic heat drained his psyche, Uh, oh! Mitchell suddenly realized the prolonged sensation was a highly intensified feeling of the very first moment of relief when the pressure is released in a very, very full bladder after holding off urinating for a very, very long time.
Bolting from his bed, rushing to the bathroom, Mitchell, once again felt as though he’d urinated, but standing in front of the urinal he discovered that his pajamas were, as before, perfectly dry.
Left with a drained feeling and a slight ache in his testicles, back in bed, lying with his hands crossed behind his head staring at the muted ceiling, That’s what it was! He thought he knew what had awoken him three nights earlier. Maybe I didn’t dream I pee’d in bed. Maybe I did “that” in my sleep and just thought I’d pee’d in bed… Well, okay, he thought, I did it once, maybe two times. Also left with an illogical feeling of guilt, But I ain’t gonna do it again, he promised himself, ever!
“Ever” lasted until two nights later.
By then, rather sure that he would not urinate, still, though, having the feeling that, Maybe I might, because at the time of orgasm, to him, it felt as though he had urinated, and not wanting to take the chance, and also, truly not wanting to admit to himself that the reason he was getting out of bed and going to the bathroom, the real reason—only, though, after he was sure that everyone else was asleep—was to do it, Mitchell told himself that he was hungry and the reason he was going to the bathroom was to nosh’ on toothpaste, which he did, before, then after he went into the last of the four stalls, closed the door, dropped his pajama bottoms, sat on the toilet and thought of Louise Ann.
Mitchell, of course, still hadn’t the slightest idea, and couldn’t even begin to imagine, what a girl looks like there, so, as he had before, thought of what he did see and put himself in the place of Salvatore Diamond.
He enjoyed seeing his penis stir, jerk upward and, swelled to a rock-hard four and a half inches, finally stand straight up in his lap, and he was always amazed by the fact that he was able to perform this miraculous feat simply by thinking about “something dirty.” He would then take himself in hand and pump. Mitchell didn’t like the term jack-off and the word masturbation was unknown to him so he referred to it as pumping.
Well into his third week of toothpaste raids and pumping, in anticipation of his approaching orgasm, spreading his thighs, Mitchell arched his pelvis upward, closed his eyes tightly and…
This time the contractions were stronger than usual and the sweet, pulsing phenomenon suddenly gave way to a sharp pain and, looking downward, Mitchell became frightened because, “Oh, my God!” stuff was squirting out of his boner.
Pain and fear momentarily overcome by absolute amazement, he watched the trajectory of the stuff as seven bursts of creamy semen arched into the air and splattered onto the toilet door and his thighs and, “Oh, my God,” he said aloud for the second time, adding, “I’ve broken something!” Thinking, I gotta tell someone! Tearing a wad of toilet paper off the roll, he wiped his thighs and the door, pulled his pajamas up, rushed out of the bathroom and down the hall to Miss Stoldig’s room, where, fist poised, about to pound on her door, stopping, What am I going to tell her? Uh, that I was sittin’ on the toilet pumpin’ myself when all of a sudden this gooey white stuff came shootin’ ou’a my boner an’ shot all over the toilet door? His arm dropped. It don’t hurt no more, so I think that maybe I’d better just go back to bed an’ see how I feel in the morning. An’ God, he thought emphatically, if it’s okay then I really promise that I ain’t never gonna do it again!
